Maps
by Rhianna-Aurora
Summary: If things are meant to be, they will ALWAYS find a way. Canon divergence, starting at the end of season 1.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Sorry if you saw the hot mess the formatting made this the first time I uploaded it on here lol. It's fixed now! Anyway - it's been a long time since I've had a muse like this one. I know it doesn't make sense NOW, but it will. And I hope you enjoy this.**

 **Prologue**

 _Fire. Fire. I am on fire._

 _This isn't supposed to hurt – why does it hurt? Isn't the end supposed to be – I dunno, peaceful?_

 _I am on fire._

 _"Obviously. This isn't the end."_

 _The voice startles her, only because it is her own._

 _But it is – I died. I was … I was poisoned, and I have died._

 _"I failed him. I failed Henry."_

 _The other voice is also her. It feels as though they mean to tear her apart with their regrets and their bitter losses._

 _She knows these voices, knows them well, knows their struggles and their pains._

 _Of course she does. They are her, after all._

 _"What did you expect? This is what you get for letting him in."_

 _Logic and reason, the voice of pragmatism in her head, the one she's listened to for over a decade now. And she's right. She should have left long ago, she should never have gotten involved – this was exactly what she'd tried to avoid. It was why she'd given him up._

 _"You couldn't have done that if you'd wanted to."_

 _Emotion and a pure, beating heart still so full of love despite it all, so full it felt like it might choke her … And she, too, spoke the truth._

 _Once she'd seen him, there was no walking away._

 _I don't know what to do. I might not be dead, but I might as well be, I'm on fire. I can't help him now, I can't even help myself._

 _"You can. You're a survivor and you've gotten through worse. You don't need anyone too help you. You've done just fine on your own, haven't you?"_

 _"Oh yes, real fine. Look at where all your 'I'm better on my own' crap has gotten you! You didn't believe in anyone or anything and now we're here!"_

 _I'm sorry! But he was … He was speaking of fairy tales like they were real! He was … He was …_

 _"Crazy."_

 _"A believer in something better."_

 _Stop! Just stop it! It doesn't matter now, cuz he's gone and I am on fire and there's nothing and no one in the world who can change what's happened now. I am never going to wake up. I might as well have died, but I'm stuck here and I'm …_

 _"Enough!"_

 _A rush of cool breeze, smelling faintly of salt and wind off the sea, with maybe the faintest hint of rum, and a fluttering of wings. The fire that burnt around her seemed to still and her vision cleared as the third voice, also her, but her as she'd never heard herself … Strong like logic, but tender like her heart. Clear and bright as bells. Blue like the ocean, the image of a butterfly – that surely did not belong here._

 _And yet it was her. But a part of her she had never spent much time listening to, not these past ten years or so. This was the part of her she feared the most. The leap before you look, close your eyes and just hope part. The unknown, the unfathomable._

 _But she would not be ignored here, not any longer._

 _"You can do this on your own."_

 _"No, you can't."_

 _The wind rushed again, the flapping of papery wings on her cheek. "Just because you can, doesn't mean you should. Or should have to."_

 _It doesn't matter. I'm dead to them. I'll never wake up from this. I feel it. I know it. I've failed._

 _"Never dead to those who love you. And to those who haven't met you yet? You have promises to keep to them too."_

 _I don't understand. And the fire, it's back again. I'm going to die here._

 _I am on fire._

 _"And I am not finished."_

 _Gone as quickly as she'd appeared, and the world was red and hot once more. She feels her skin crackling, but it's probably in her head. She is as good as dead – this is her reality, all she will know from here on out._

 _Fire. Fire. I am on fire._

 _At least, for now, the voices are quiet …_

oXo

He didn't even _like_ blondes.

But the second she had walked into the tavern, a place a woman such as herself had no business being in, he hadn't been able to take his eyes off off her. So he supposed it was all for the better when she approached his table, mindless of the others who sat with him and looked him right in the eyes. He met her gaze, but not before noticing her ample cleavage on perfect display (there were butterflies on her bodice – not that that made any bloody bit of difference, _fuck_ he'd had too much rum already).

"So," she said in a husky voice that had his cock harder than any of the giggling brunette girls who were all but sitting in his lap at this point. He barely even remembered they were there. "What are you boys playing?"

It wasn't an invitation for the whole table, and even if it was, he wasn't feeling particularly inclined to share her company with the louts he had left to him ever since that bloody curse had taken most of his crew to gods knew where.

The blonde had bitten back a beguiling little grin when he'd shooed the others away, not at all fazed by the dirty looks his previous female companions had shot at her. She moved to sit, not across from him as he'd assumed she might, but next to him, straddling the pine bench and taking his hook in her hand.

She hadn't even flinched at the gruesome metal apparatus, and instead curled her long, delicate fingers around the curve. He swallowed thickly, his eyes never leaving her face as he reached to pour them both a glass of rum.

He didn't even _like_ blondes.

But she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever had the fortune to lay eyes upon.

"What brings a lady such as yourself into this dilapidated hovel?" he asked, wanting to her that smoky rich voice again, to watch her tongue dart out to wet her lips, to imagine his own doing the same.

"Nice of you to assume that I'm a lady." And she _did_ , she licked her lips, her fingers slipping along his hook, and bloody _fuck_ he couldn't see straight, but he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the drink.

When was the last time he'd felt this way around a woman? He wasn't sure he had ever been so discombobulated by the mere presence of another person. She was something out of a dream, something from another life. He wanted, but not just in the usual way. Normally, he wanted it over and done, just a momentary distraction from his pain.

He wanted to worship this woman, and bloody hell, he didn't even know why.

"If not a lady, then what?" he asked her as he took a drink, watched her follow suit, his eyes following as she swallowed, the urge to press his mouth against the long, graceful line of her throat, to mark her pale flesh with his teeth as he drove himself into her almost overwhelming.

Gods, he felt like an uncontrollable whelp.

She smiled that coy little smile again, her gaze flickering to his from beneath her lashes as she toyed with his hook. "Why don't you tell me?"

"A siren," he said without thinking, and felt a right daft fool for it when she laughed.

"Nice line, sailor," she murmured, shaking her head, the golden waves of her hair mesmerizing him as she did. Gods, but she was a beauty. "Not a siren, though I could tell you your future, if you'd like." She bit her lip, reaching then for his hand. She sighed audibly as her skin touched his, and he noted just how hot her skin was in comparison to his own.

His brow creased in concern. "Lass, you're burning up," he said.

"Oh, it's nothing," she told him flippantly, waving her other hand. "I run a little hot."

He didn't really know what that meant, but the need to take care of her was flaring up within him, as well as the need to just take her. He didn't understand why this woman, above all others, was eliciting such warring feelings from him. He wanted to care for, and he wanted too fuck. It was new, and he was drunk and felt as though he were in turmoil.

He scooted a little closer to her, his eyes raking over her face. He wanted her alone, out of this place, so he could assure himself that she was real and not some crazy fever dream, so that he could put hand to flesh and assure himself that she was all right, despite the heat of her skin. He wanted that heat next to him. He had been cold for far too long. "Don't you think you'd feel better if we got out of this place? I've a ship we could go back to."

And he didn't rightly know whether he'd be tucking her into bed alone, or if they'd be sleeping at all. It would completely be up to her. He just couldn't not ask. Not when the need was stronger than any he'd ever known.

She smirked a little at that, as if she could perfectly read his thoughts.

Bloody hell, perhaps she could.

"I think it might be best, yes," she said lowly after a moment, eyes on his. "Readings like mine, they can get _pretty intense_." She licked her bottom lip and he almost groaned.

"I could tell you your future right now," he told her hotly as he stood up, extending his hand too help her up. He noted the way her lashes fluttered … Good. It meant he wasn't the only one feeling … whatever this was between them.

"Oh?" she asked, quirking a brow at him as she took his hand and stood up, letting him pull her close.

"Aye," he said lowly, his gaze dropping to her lips. "But I think it best that I _show_ you."

"Then take me to your ship, Captain."

It didn't occur to him in the moment to find it odd that she knew he was a captain.

The trip back to the Jolly Roger seemed to be both interminable and over too quickly. It wasn't as if he were a stranger to any of this, and yet with her, it felt wholly different. New. She didn't speak much as they walked, and he hoped like hell she wasn't going to change her mind.

She didn't seem inclined to run though, more like she was lost in thought, and it gave him time to watch her, to take in her features, to think about her long and delicate fingers touching him as he brought her to pleasure.

He was hard to the point of pain, and there was yet a part of him that couldn't wait to just _hold_ her. She was likely the closest thing to a star that he might ever touch.

Gods, he got embarrassingly poetic when he was drunk.

They arrived at the ship to find out empty, though that wasn't surprising, not in these times. Most of his crew had gone with the curse. He didn't know where they might be now. He didn't know why time had started moving again here, either. 28 years, Cora had said. Had it already been that long?

"You need to set a new course." She spoke again, now that they were onboard the ship. She stood at the helm, and part of him thought that she looked like she belonged there.

"Come again?" His eyebrows knitted as he looked at her, the sea breeze running its salty fingers through the hair that shone silvery gold in the moonlight. Would she let him touch her? His fist was curled at his side, clenching to keep himself from doing anything that might scare her away.

"You're following the wrong path," she told him. "The witch – she can't give you what you need."

"And what is it that I need, lass?" Honestly, he could think of only one thing he _needed_ at the moment, and she was only meters away from him.

She simply smiled, a little sadly. "You follow the witch because she made you a promise, right?"

"Aye." His jaw clenched. "To get revenge, on the-"

"The man who took your hand." She stepped closer to him then, tilting her face up to his, her hands curling around his hook and his hand. "The man who took your love." She shook her head. "You won't ever get what you want."

His breath was caught in his throat. Her hands were gentle, soft, but there was a steel strength behind them. Her green eyes burned as they looked at him. She was unlike anyone he'd ever met before. Fire made flesh – maybe his fire analogy hadn't been so far off, after all.

"And how is it you're such an expert on what I want?" he asked her, his voice sharp now. "As long as I get my revenge on Rumplestiltskin, all else matters naught."

"Revenge, huh?" She cocked her head to the side, eyes searching his face. "That's a pretty reason to die. And if you follow the witch … that's surely what will happen to you." One of her hands reached up then, cupping his cheek. It was so _familiar_ to him, somehow, that it made his long cold heart ache.

"What do you suggest I do instead?" He heard himself say the words, and the part of him that had kept him going for so long hated himself for even entertaining any other notions. Revenge was all he had.

But her hand was on his cheek and all he had to do was dip his head and he might know what her lips tasted like and …

"Follow the swan, instead," she whispered, even as she leaned in to meet his lips ,and it was so far from what he'd expected to hear that he pulled back, looking at her as though she were mad.

"Follow the swan?"

She blinked as he pulled away, confusion on her face as he gave a short bark of laughter.

"What in the bloody hell does that mean? You know, I never much cared for swans. One of those bloody bastards bit me once."

Her expression was droll, but he could see the corner of her lip twitching upward. "You probably had it coming."

"Hilarious," he said dryly. "I don't understand what swans have to do with anything though, or why you care so much." He cocked a brow at her.

She sighed affectedly, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "You have your reasons to die, maybe you'll find something better if you listen to me."

"Something better? Like what?"

"A reason to _live_."

Her expression was so earnest, so serious then, beseeching in a way he'd never seen from anyone before. He didn't know what she was after, didn't know why it seemed so damned important that he listen to her, and he didn't have any answers to give her. "Just … Think about it, yeah?"

"Aye," he said, thumb pressed against his bottom lip then as he looked at her. "I will, lass."

She smiled a little then, sweet and a bit melancholy, and he couldn't resist any longer. He didn't know what she'd intended with her prediction, but she hadn't run off yet, and he thought that was a good sign, in any case.

"Is it my turn then?"

"What?" she asked him, a bemused expression on her face.

He smirked a little then. "My turn," he said lowly, stepping closer to her, "to tell you your future."

"Oh," she remarked, lowering her lashes, a grin forming on her lips. "I guess it's only fair, right?"

"Indeed," he said, tipping her face up with his index finger so he could look at her. "I think it's been a long time, darling, since you've been properly kissed." He was pleased to hear the sharp intake of her breath then, to note the way her pulse jumped in that lovely throat of hers.

"That's not my future," she pointed out wryly, but her voice was much breathier now.

"In the very near future, that's about to change," he said lowly, dipping down to brush his lips over hers in the merest of touches.

But it wasn't enough.

For either of them.

She was warm and her lips pliant beneath his, as she rose up on her toes to meet him. Her fingers clutched at his upper arms, pressing through the leather of his coat as his own hand rested at her back, drawing her in close. Her lips parted with a breathless sigh, all the opening he needed for his tongue to slip past her lips, to slide against hers.

She moaned out, and he groaned, his cock stirring at the delicious way she responded to him, to his touch. His hand skimmed the side of her corset, up over the swell of her breasts. Her skin was silk beneath his fingertips, and he wanted nothing more than to feel every inch of it, to taste every part of her that he could.

She gasped softly, and he pulled back a little as he thought he heard her say _I'm sorry._

It didn't make sense, until he felt his legs giving out beneath him, the world around him starting to spin. She held onto him, cradling him in her arms as he fell, keeping his head in her lap and her fingers in his hair, and in a voice that sounded very far away, he could hear her. _I'm so sorry, my love. There was no other way. I'm so sorry. But I need you. I need you. Please find me._

He had no idea how long he was out for, no idea if the woman had been a dream. He woke up on his back on the deck of the Jolly, the stars bright above him. He was probably late to meet Cora – they were supposed to rendezvous, to plan how they were going to get to the other realm.

The constellation Cygnus was the first thing he saw as his vision cleared, as he lie there, unsteady and lost and confused. For the first time in centuries, his path was not clear to him.

 _Follow the swan instead_.

She may have been nothing more than a dream. But he could still feel her lips on his lips. He could still hear her voice.

 _A reason to live._

On unsteady legs, he stood and moved to the helm.

Nothing made sense. She might have been nothing more than a dream, an apparition brought on by too much rum.

 _My love. Please find me._

If there was even a chance, though, he had to take it. His eyes raised to the heavens once more. Cygnus in the East.

He'd go East.

 _I'll find you. Wherever you are._


	2. One: The Maps Have Been Rewritten

**Chapter One**  
 **The Maps Have Been Rewritten**

 _She thinks she sees Mary Margaret, once, but logic tells her it's not possible._

 _"Why would she be here?"_

 _Heart gives her a reason, but she is too hot – she's on fire, after all – to contemplate anything but what she knows to be the truth._

 _There's no such thing as curses. No magical fix for her newfound hell._

 _"And even if there was – there's no one. You saw to that, remember?"_

 _Logic is so reasonable, it's impossible to argue. She's alone with her own voices, and this is her eternity._

 _She wonders sometimes where the third voice went. But she had had things to do, when she left. The part of her that knew those things had gone with her. Heart wants her to hope. Logic says she's stupid to even try._

 _Logic wins. Logic is louder, its arguments more compelling._

 _Even when she feels that she's had it all wrong, all this time._

 _Everything is hot here, and when she tries to move, the fire follows her, tries to scorch her. It's safer to stay put, she learns quickly. As long as she doesn't move, as long as she stays just so … She won't get hurt._

 _Heart makes an ugly sound at that._

 _But you can't argue with logic._

 _There's another girl here – honey hair and stormcloud eyes; she's trapped too, in this red, burning room with no doors or widows. They can't speak to one another, but purple lace flits from place to place, trying to find a way out._

 _Logic wants to scream at her, tell her to be still, the flames are worse when she moves. Heart thinks she's very brave, and wishes for that kind of belief for herself. Wishes she had the will to keep trying. Wishes for Logic to shut up, and to let her lead for once._

 _She's so very tired here._

 _Something happens – she doesn't know how long it takes, there's no way to know that here. But something happens, and the other girl is gone._  
 _"Of course, this is all just a figment of your imagination. You're going to go crazy here."_

 _She puts her hands over her head and makes herself small, the way she did when she was young and things were bad. And in the moment, in the quiet stillness, she hears the bells again, stronger and louder than Logic could ever be._

 _"It's okay. The stars are out, the sea is calm tonight. And the maps have been rewritten."_

 _She feels a rush of wind, blissful cool, and feels the touch of a hand on her own. Hears the echo of a laugh, sees a smile in laughing blue eyes that burn brighter than any fire of hell could ever hope to._

 _And she doesn't know why – but that makes her feel better._

 _When she raises her head once more, she thinks she sees Mary Margaret again._

 _But that still doesn't make any sense._

oXo

He hadn't slept. It had been days – hell, maybe it had been a week or more. He hadn't moved from the helm, afraid to veer even slightly off course if he did. He was quite aware he was teetering on the edge of madness, but since when was that anything new?

He ought to have found it strange that the sky had yet to lighten – it had been dark for days, and he was trying to remember if he'd seen the sun since that day time had started moving once more.

Of course he had. He'd seen _her_.

His mind wanted too wax poetic in his sleep deprived state, wanted to carry on and on about how his life had been a perpetual black hole of suffering and disillusionment and pain until he'd looked up and seen her, all golden and bright.

And completely made up, don't forget that part, mate, he told himself with a bitter laugh. It might not be too late, he tried to rationalize. He might yet be able to meet up with Cora, to stick to the original plan. To get to this Land Without Magic and finally get his revenge.

But he found he could no longer quite conjure up the exact details of the face he'd sworn to avenge – that time had stolen some of the shine from the memories, that now they just felt like echoes of another life - one he wasn't quite sure was worth clinging to any longer. Nothing would change, after all. He'd never get it all back.

Three _hundred_ years he'd spent chasing ghosts. Three hundred years, wallowing in the mire of it, letting the inky depths of despair and anger pull him under, again and again.

And only now did he feel like he was coming up for air.

He could die. He'd always meant to do just that. Be sated and filled and able to finally let go and move on. He could turn around, right now, and find Cora. Go back to live and to die, just like he'd planned.

Or he could follow the bloody swan, as the siren – what else could she have been? – had told him he should.

It was madness. It was a fool's errand, and he was the most pathetic of them all for rushing headlong at it the way that he did.

 _You always were the leap before you look, hotheaded one, little brother._

It was a hallucination brought on by lack of sleep, but he couldn't argue with his brother's voice in his head. He'd always done what felt right in the moment. He could adapt to any situation he found himself in – and it was a good thing. Because he was all heart. Logic and reason be damned. He knew when something felt like the right thing to do.

He'd never worried about the personal cost to himself. When you've got nothing, you've got nothing to lose. And if you couldn't listen to your heart and trust it to tell you what's right – you may as bloody well give up.

He could still feel her skin. Every time he breathed, it was _her_ air that filled his lungs.

It was madness. It was a fool's errand that was just as likely to get him killed as not. And yet every fiber of his being knew that he had to keep going. She'd promised him something better. And for the first time in centuries, he'd felt hope.

Hope could only sustain one so far though. More time passed as he sailed, ever onward, closer to whatever awaited him at the end of all of this. He gave up trying to keep track of how much time passed. He withstood a raging storm that threatened to blow him completely off course. Perhaps it should have been a sign, perhaps he should have known then that the worst was yet to come.

But Cygnus was still in the sky, its stars twinkling at him as if to taunt him. "Come and get me, if you dare", and yes, it was all in his head, but it was a challenge nonetheless, and he didn't plan to back down.

By this point, he was beyond exhaustion, and yet he still kept on. There was no other way to explain it, except to call it a compulsion. As though the universe was trying to fix something that had gone terribly wrong.

So onward he sailed, onward until he thought he might well sail off the bloody end of the world. There was nothing to break up the monotony, no crew to bark orders at, not another ship or soul around. It was enough to make him start to worry.

If she had been a siren – wouldn't it be just like one to lure him tho his doom? That's what they were known for, after all.

Just when he was beginning to feel as though it was all for naught – he looked up, and he saw her once more. Just as golden and resplendent as he'd remembered, standing at the bow of the ship, looking out over the horizon.

Another hallucination from his overtired mind. And yet he welcomed this one.

"You haven't turned back yet," she said without facing him. He wanted to go to her, but he couldn't leave the helm. "The maps have been rewritten, you felt it too, didn't you?"

His brow furrowed. Her words didn't make any sense, and yet he understood her perfectly. "Aye," he agreed softly. "It wasn't … meant to be this way, was it, lass?"

She shook her head, and he could perfectly envision that sad little smile on her lips, though she still didn't face him. Gods he longed to hold her. Would she ever allow him to? "It was always meant to be, but everything changes. Like the sea. There are many paths. They all end up converging eventually."

She turned then, and he noted that her features were a little blurry, as though she were fading away. "I thought we'd meet under different circumstances. We've met so many times …" He let go of the helm then, moving to step closer, to keep her from disappearing again. "It won't be easy, you know. I will never need you. But that's why you have to show me … it's okay if I want to need you."

He reached for her then, his fingers brushing her hand before she disappeared again. He heard her sigh as she became nothing more than a memory once more - or maybe it was just the wind.

He had no time to contemplate what she'd been talking about. He heard the sickening scrape of rocks along the hull of the Jolly, and he let out a loud curse as he raced back for the helm.

He barely made it back when the sky nigh on exploded above him, and the world went white with a blast that knocked him from his feet, and sent him flying across the deck to land with a hard knock to his head.

Then it all went black.

oXo

"Who's there? Who are you?"

The voice was faraway, but he knew it. He must be dreaming. He'd hit his head a little too hard. He opened his eyes slowly, wincing at the absolutely meteoric pain in his head as he did.

The world was on fire, burning and red all around him, and yet he felt nothing. No heat. Just the blinding pain behind his eyes.

"Answer me, damn it! How did you get here?"

The voice was strained with panic, and he moved to sit up slowly, rubbing at the knot on the back of his head, his face screwed up in pain as he looked around to try and locate the owner of the voice.

"Oi, love, give a man a moment to adjust," he muttered, surprised then to hear an audible gasp.

"You … you can _hear_ me?"

"You're bloody shouting loud enough to wake the dead, love, yes, I can hear you clear as a bell." He grimaced, still rubbing at his head. Where in the bloody fuck was he?

"You're the first person her who's answered me," the voice spoke again, somewhat quieter now. "My name is Emma Swan … Who are you?"

He opened his mouth to answer her, only to promptly shut it again.

Did she just say Emma _Swan_?

"Bloody hell."


	3. Two: Fire and Ice

**Chapter Two**  
 **Fire and Ice**

 _There's a rush of wind and light, a cool breeze encapsulates her, just for a moment, and she hears the sound of something heavy land. She doesn't know where, exactly, or what it is, but the audible grunt seems human._

 _"Someone's here!" Heart perks up, gets her hopes up as though she's not learned her lesson by now. Stupid._

 _"No one's here. You're going crazy. And even if there were someone, they couldn't hear you. The other one couldn't." Logic is right, as always._

 _She hears a curse, and the voice is male. It's the first voice she's heard since … Well. Since she came here._

 _"Who's there? Who are you?"_

 _No answer, and she starts to think she really is going crazy here. She refuses to accept that._

 _"Answer me, damn it! How did you get here?"_

 _Something moves, and agitates whatever is in this room. The flames shoot up again, clear on the other side, and through the smoke and red haze, she can just see the silhouette. A person._

 _A man._

 _"Oi, love, give a man a moment to adjust."_

 _She gasps and Heart all but leaps into her throat._

 _Logic scoffs … but only to hide her own intrigue._

 _Someone's here._

 _And he can hear me._

 _She wishes she could see him through all the flames and smoke._

 _"It would be nice to have company." Even Logic can't disagree with Heart's sigh._

 _"My name is Emma Swan … Who are you?"_

 _Even Logic is disappointed when he doesn't answer._

oXo

" _Bloody hell_ is not a name. Where are you?"

He chuckled to himself, in spite of the situation. The phantom voice that he couldn't quite place sounded frustrated. A sentiment he could wholly concur with. Her voice didn't seem all that far away, across the strange burning room, and he wished he could find her better amidst the flames. It'd be nice to get some damned answers.

Not the least of which being, _Where the bloody hell are we?_

"Look, I've been here for a really long time, and I'm hot and tired and you're the first person who's answered me at all …"

His brow furrowed at that. He assumed it should be hot here, with all the flames every time even the slightest movement was made, but he strangely felt no heat from any of it.

"Apologies, lass," he said in what he thought was her general direction. It was so hard to tell here, everything was distorted and strange, rippled by the heat and obstructed from view by the smoke. "Just trying to get my bearings. Last I knew, I was on me ship."

"Your ship?" He could hear the frown in her voice, but with no expression to match it to, there was no way for him to discern what it meant.

"Aye. Captain Killian Jones, at your service. But most have taken to calling me by my more colorful moniker. Hook." He gave a dramatic little bow, even though she couldn't see it, and it set off one of the fire spouts. He hadn't really felt the heat of the room before, but nearly getting his eyebrows singed off was a whole other story. "Bloody fuck!" He jumped out of the way with a curse, and he thought maybe he heard her laugh, but he couldn't be sure.

"Hook? As in, _Captain_ Hook?"

It was probably incredulity in her voice, but he chose to believe it was awestruck delight, and proceeded thusly. He didn't know why, but he felt compelled to keep her talking. To get near her, if he could. "So you've heard of me, eh?"

He heard her huff out a breath. Laughter or annoyance? He'd been known to inspire both from the fairer sex. "Whatever you just did, Captain," she said dryly, "probably don't want to do it again. Unless you want to be lit on fire. It's best to just … be still."

"Worried about my safety are you? I'm touched." He looked around, trying to make heads or tails of any of it. Burning red room. Disembodied female voice. Woman with a name he'd specifically been foretold about.

He didn't really believe in coincidences, but he also had no bloody clue what to do with any of this.

"No, I really just don't want you to do something idiotic that ends up getting _me_ fried."

He laughed heartily at that. Whoever she was, he liked her already. No cowering little wallflower, this one.

He wished he could _see_ her.

"Wouldn't it be a mite better if we could actually see one another, Swan? Perhaps figure out a way out of this blasted place?"

"And how do you propose we do that, without becoming barbecue?"

"Very carefully?" he suggested, and this time, he was sure about the laugh. He didn't know why, but it made his heartbeat quicken. He hadn't even laid eyes upon her yet, but he didn't have to for his course of action to become clear.

 _Follow the swan._

He'd get to her side if it bloody well killed him.

"I think the floor … has triggers or … traps in it. I haven't been able to figure out a pattern though." He could hear the concern in her voice, as though she were trying to work it out in her mind. "I can go left, I think, without setting off the flames." He heard a shuffling noise, and assumed she was testing her hypothesis.

He reached behind him, feeling the smooth surface of the wall behind him. It felt like tile, or maybe glass. Slightly curved? Was the room a circle? He took a small step to his right, nothing happened. He took another. "I can go right," he told her then. "Can you feel the wall behind you, lass?"

"Yes … It's curved, I think."

He made a triumphant little sound. "I think the room is a circle – if you keep moving left, and I right, eventually we'll find one another. Keep close to the wall."

"And then what?"

He smirked a little then, glad at the moment she couldn't see him. "Then we'll see what we see."

She snorted at that, but he could hear her moving. The smoke was thick and acrid – he wished he had something to cover his face. "Why do they call you Hook?" she asked then. He knew what she was doing. Distracting herself from the very real possibility that either of them could get completely parboiled at any moment.

"Because I'm a hell of a knitter," he retorted, and the responding laugh was music to his ears. "Why do you think, love? You said my name as if you knew of me."

"I just … wanted to know," she said, and he could hear the shrug in her voice. "You're not waiting to kill me, are you?"

"Wasn't on my list, no." He couldn't help but feel a little insulted, but he supposed it was a fair question.

If his notoriety had reached her ears, she was right to wary.

But hurting this as yet ethereal, ephemeral woman he'd yet to lay eyes on was the farthest thing from his mind right now. He wanted to see her, to know her. To see what the face that laughed even in the midst of this horrorshow looked like.

Was she the key then? Was she going to lead him to what he sought? He'd been told to follow the swan. Was this it, then?

He thought, for so long, that it was revenge he wanted. That it would make him happy, that he would be satisfied to die for that. But he kept seeing silver blonde hair in the moonlight, and idly he wondered whether his companion in this red room of fire was a blonde, too.

He didn't even _like_ blondes.

She had fallen silent then, just the sound of her careful footsteps, in tandem with his own, as they made their way closer – hopefully to one another.

He noted, with some interest, that she'd only asked him about himself. Aside from her own name, she hadn't offered any information about herself, how she came to be here. She was guarding herself, but he knew it was more than that.

"Most men would find your silence off-putting, but I love a challenge," he drawled out casually, hissing out a curse as the toe of his boot slid just a bit too far forward, setting off a flame geyser.

"I'm concentrating," she said, her voice much closer to him now. It wouldn't be much longer. "So _that_ doesn't happen to me."

"Touche. But it's more than that. You're afraid to talk, to reveal yourself."

"Why should I reveal myself to someone I can't even see right now? Look, I'm glad for the company and I'm not about to reject any help in getting out of this place, but I'm drawing the line at the therapy session so ..."

"I don't know what that is, but I assure you it's …"

He frowned then as he took another shuffling side step, his fingers sliding along the wall ahead of him, except – there wasn't any wall there. "Wait-" he started, at the same time she said,"What happened to the wall?" but it was too late.

He felt the floor beneath him start crumble, to give way, a scant second before he heard a shout from his prickly companion. He tried to step back, away from the part of the floor that was cracking, only to nearly be engulfed in flames.

He shouted, all but diving forward, but there was no floor ahead to catch him, and he found himself falling.

It seemed like the fall was never-ending, so when the icy water rushed up and over his head, it was a shock unlike any he'd ever known. He surfaced, sputtering and cursing, eyes adjusting to the dim starlight that was such a contrast to the room he'd just fallen from. No more flames. No heat. His eyes were still adjusting to his new surroundings, and he couldn't quite make out any features yet.

Fuck, it was cold. He looked up, but there was no sign of the room he'd just been in, only a moonless, starry sky

The sound of someone breaking the surface of the water not too far from him made him turn his gaze from the heavens. "Are you all right, love?" His heart was pounding at the chance to finally see her.

Her back was to him as she pushed her wet hair off her face, spluttering out curses he'd only heard from other sailors before. He couldn't help but smile, in spite of the situation. She was like a stick of dynamite.

"What the hell was that?" Her teeth were chattering. She turned in the water then, her eyes finally opening as she blinked away the water droplets.

He barely heard what she was saying, his jaw dropping just a little as he finally got a chance to see her. Golden hair. Green eyes that looked like the entire world. Soft pink lips that his own had tasted in a rum-fueled stupor.

" _You …_ " he rasped out hoarsely, unable to keep from reaching out for her.

His hand found only air and water.

oXo

 _"I know him," Heart says at the sight of those blue eyes._

 _Logic gives a long suffering sound of exasperation. "No, you don't. Just cuz he's pretty …"_

 _The third voice, the one that comes on butterfly wings … She just sighs._


End file.
